Page 40 - Phonebox Magazine October 2016

The Calais Jungle Camp
TIan Roberts
he rst thing I must say is a massive thank you to all of you lovely caring people who donated instruments for the musicians living in the camp. You are far too many to list here, but you know who you are and I thank you from the bottom
of my heart, as does every single person living in the camp who had, and will get, a chance to play those instruments. I wish you could have seen their faces when I sat there with some of the musicians jamming using the instruments you donated. It was a privilege to represent you all, and I thank you for that honour.
I recently had the pleasure, (now there’s a word you don’t hear when the jungle camp is mentioned in the mainstream media), of spending three days in the Calais Jungle Camp. I had been invited to perform and record in the camp by a group of musicians from the UK and France called “The Calais Sessions”. They are doing amazing work recording and releasing an album with musicians who are all living in the camp, and that’s the thing; the people in the camp are musicians, bus drivers, teachers, builders and shop keepers, doctors and nurses – in fact they are just like you or me - the only difference is that they have been made homeless; displaced by the ugliest thing that this world has to offer: war. On arrival in Calais, we headed to the camp warehouse to of oad all the instruments. It’s enormous and makes you realise just how many people care and want to help. The warehouse is lled with everything you can imagine, from clothes and bikes to sheet materials and tarpaulins for building “homes” in the camp. Another thing you can’t help noticing is the number of volunteers who have come from all over the world to help. From young students on gap years to pensioners – we walked around and chatted to people from the all over the world. They all work together and most camp together, and they all look so happy in their work, it’s a reminder that giving has its rewards. But it’s not all work, doom and gloom; I’m guessing all the best parties are happening in Calais right now. If we’d had the time then we might have stayed with the warehouse volunteers for a night or two, but I had gigs to do and a holiday booked, so we headed south.
In the Camp
We returned to Calais four weeks later and I entered the “Jungle Camp” for the rst time.
The rst thing I noticed as we drove in was a makeshift Christian Church, made from plywood – maybe ten meters high with a big cross on the top. We were in a car being checked by the police who man the entrances, and I noticed this building sitting proud about one hundred meters away, so I asked “is that a church?” It may sound strange, but for some reason I had never imagined that there would be a Church in the camp. In fact, I never imagined any of the wonders I came across in the camp, and yet in all of the chaos, the poverty, the heart-breaking stories and the mess created by those in power, I found warmth, friendship, forgiveness, community, even happiness - and of course love.
My rst day was spent meeting all the other musicians who volunteer in the camp. There were musos of all genres, classical to punk and everything in-between, all doing their bit. I was shown around the camp and was honestly amazed at the sights and the number of people from all different parts of the world living together, getting on with their lives. There were mostly men, but I did see lots of women too. I was told there was a separate camp for women and children, which we weren’t allowed in. Another thing that jumps out is the “High Street” because
shops have popped up and ll this weaving high street; a little barber shop made from bits of plywood and metal sheets, a bread shop selling three nan breads for a Euro, shops selling cans of drinks, crisps, and chocolate, used mainly by the volunteers. There were fantastic cafés and restaurants that have also sprung up along the “High Street” - yes commerce and the beginnings of a new city have grown from the ashes of despair. It’s how I imagined the wild west was, except for the “wild” bit, because there is some sort of organisation within this new “City”, and yet no-one controls it. There are no police inside the camp, no politicians, no banks, no authority, and yet it runs perfectly well within those constraints. It seemed like everyone looked after everyone else, which is what I suppose, they have to do. They’ve had it much tougher than most. I remembered my own family members and older people telling me that during the war in this country, people came together and helped each other more and there was a greater sense of community.
Jungle Books
After walking around I was taken to a place called “Jungle Books”, an area that has become a library and a school. Volunteers from France, the UK, and all over the world come for a few days each, to teach the people who are living in the camp. They are taught English and French, some on a one-to-one basis with a little table and two chairs sitting in the sun, others in the packed plywood school. The library was stocked with French and English books of all types, I even found my favourite book “The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell” in French. Standing in that library looking all around me and thinking about the moment I arrived in the camp, to this point staring at the book in my hand, reminded me that I’ve never stopped being humbled and amazed by what human beings can do for each other. Eventually, I was taken to a little hut that stored all the instruments that we had brought over in our campervan and asked if I’d like to hold a guitar workshop. Of course, I jumped at the chance to teach and suggested we do it outside in a eld behind the Church. Most of these people had never even held a guitar before and I was soon surrounded by around fteen keen and smiling men, most from Sudan, all eager to learn. I was regaled with stories of lost loves and dreams of a better future by these wonderful young people. We all laughed together and learnt something about each other, I spoke of my family and they of theirs. Some strummed along to lots of old three chord Elvis songs whilst I sang at the top of
40 Phonebox Magazine | October 2016